The Edge of the Wall

The Edge of the Wall.

A zone of silence separated That world from This reality. It still looked like a regular neighborhood on paper, but calling it normal required Olympic- level mental gymnastics. No stray cats or dogs prowled the streets like they usually do in rundown areas.

Even birds didn’t dare land here in their eternal hunt for snacks. They seemed to understand that in this neck of the woods, they could easily become the snacks.

Every building, from high-rise apartments to single-story shacks, was wrapped in darkness. As soon as the sun dipped, people shut off the lights and pulled the curtains tight, hoping the night predators wouldn’t drop by for tea. Though, to be fair to those nasty creatures, they rarely bothered breaking into houses. Maybe they just weren’t fans of cardio or staircases.

Anyway, enough jokes. I dropped onto the cobblestone and let my legs solidify again. All my senses were on max alert, but I didn’t need to switch to Dark Sight yet—I could still see fine, thanks to a rare burst of generosity from the Municipality.

Sure, the City Council usually pinched pennies like gremlins on a budget, but for once they hadn’t skimmed off the top. The streetlights were blazing bright, exposing every shadow and corner.

For some reason, the Council thought streetlights would scare Them away

—which was, of course, delusional. They wouldn’t care even if the moon was replaced with a disco ball.

It was still well-lit where I stood, but I hadn’t yet reached the alleyway I was headed for—one where streetlight fingers didn’t dare crawl. My short hair would’ve probably started sweating from the tension, if I even had such an annoying human trait. But man, how those lime-green strands shimmered under the lamps! Totally worth hunting down that epic hair tonic. And now that ombré was back in style, my new shade looked like it was made just for me... okay, I’m getting distracted.

Even though the cold was brutal enough to freeze lava, I didn’t shiver. On the contrary, I cracked open my faux-leather jacket a little, ready to grab stuff from the secret pockets when needed. I also checked the tension wires holding my stilettos—those babies were strapped inside the sleeves.

These blades were about the size of classic daggers and made of... aluminum. For some mysterious reason, that lame, non-noble metal absolutely pissed off the physical beasts from that pack. Aluminum wasn’t great at slicing flesh, sadly, so my late friend—also Antwan’s mom and a badass blacksmith—used to make me fresh batches on the regular. Since she passed, I’d been stuck with the stash she left behind.

But those weren’t even my main weapon. And neither were the -fangs- made from the same metal that decorated my knees and elbows. My real, one-of-a-kind weapon... was me.

The alley reeked. Like someone had dumped a truckload of rotting trash, even though I knew only a handful of people lived here and barely made any mess.

Still, signs of normal human life clashed with that logic: parked bikes and cars, a forgotten brand-new doll, little piles of pet food. It was like the street was trying to lull me into comfort. Not gonna happen!

I wasn’t in the mood for long dramatic greetings tonight. I took a loud breath and blew out a strong gust of air that spun like a tiny whirlwind and shot down the alley. That breeze would help any lurking nasties zero in on me and come running for some tender human meat. Not that I’d be much of a snack—I was as scrawny as my late friend Lacey always used to say.

I plopped down on a bench, stretched out my worn-out legs, and quietly dreamed of a relaxing massage from some cute dude. Maybe I could kill some time on a dating app while waiting for Them to show up? Yeah, let’s do that.

I was just about to scroll through a sea of profiles when—bam—I felt a chill run through me. A pleasant chill, mind you, despite it already being a freezing December night. Welp. Classic sign: -clients- incoming.

Too bad that was all I got. One creepy vibe and then... nothing. No follow- up, no confirmation. I started thinking maybe this whole thing was a false alarm. Mia’s drone might’ve just caught some random people. Or animals. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I turned toward the street, casually walking toward a distant house, when I heard a soft rustle behind me. I didn’t turn around. Spooking the follower would only make them hide. Unfortunately, my little trick didn’t work—the rustle didn’t repeat. I made it to the edge of this urban swamp, stepped back into the light, and let out a small, disappointed sigh.

And then a garbage can launched itself at me. With fangs. Like, full-on leaping, snarling, steel-jawed trash bin.

I nearly missed the jump. If not for my enhanced reflexes in Dreamwalker mode, I’d be halfway digested inside a recycling container right now.

Maybe it thought it was doing Mother Nature a favor. Though... am I really

that toxic?

Time to hit back. I leapt too, launching one of my stilettos at the thing’s side. It scraped harmlessly off the metal and clattered away. First hit— complete fail. And now I was down to one blade. I didn’t carry guns—not out of principle, but because the creatures couldn’t care less about bullets of any caliber.

The bin monster bounced along the cobblestones, making an ungodly racket as it went, its freakishly long tongue dripping with goo. I dodged every strike, and at one point, even managed to grab the tongue mid-snap. A thick slime oozed over my glove, sizzling the material. It flooded into the hole it burned through, forming a tiny lake on my palm... and that was it. Weak move, trash-boy.

Strike. Dodge. Strike again. The tongue kept swiping at me, now trying to wrap around my body—guess even the monster’s peanut brain figured out that its slime wasn’t gonna cut it. Meanwhile, I wasn’t just twirling around for show—I was prepping my own attack.

I focused on building up extra mass in my arm to give it the strength of a steel pipe, planning to slice the beast in half with a single blow. But just as I was about to go full Mortal Kombat, the bin monster spun into the air and launched itself at me like some twisted meteor.

Gotta say—I kinda botched this part. It smacked me right in the temple. Black blood trickled down my face. I licked it off instinctively, rolled it around in my mouth, and formed a tight little ball. Then I grabbed it, and chucked that sucker straight at the trash beast.

Bullseye.

The garbage bin didn’t even see the throw coming (seriously though—what does it see with?), and when the capsule hit, it burst open. Boom! Thick, black goo wrapped around the beast, not only giving it a lovely makeover, but also paralyzing the sucker.

The bin dropped to the ground, flailed a bit for show, then gave up and just slumped over like a sack of shame. That’s it, amigo.

I rubbed my hands together in satisfaction and patted the metal belly of my little trash prince. Lie there, sweetheart. I’m about to melt you into oblivion

—won’t even leave crumbs behind. -Alive- is not what my employers are paying for.

Oh, and yeah—forgot to mention I was recording the whole thing with my visual cam, just like I planned. The footage got saved, following proper protocol. Gonna archive that beauty for later.

Out of my jacket’s endless pockets came a metal flask, half-full of the good stuff. A spicy little cocktail cooked up by our brave city defenders— designed to ignite anything, living or otherwise.

Just as the first drop was about to kiss the twitching beast, another wave of cold washed over my skin. But this time? It hit like a full-on arctic punch to the face.

And then... they arrived.

From the far end of the street came a whole squad of garbage-gobblers, all shapes and sizes. One thing they had in common? Giant maws, dripping tongues, and a strong shared desire to murder me on sight.

They clattered and banged toward me like a thousand rabid hippos. One, two, three... I lost count and gave up trying. Instead, I slipped into combat trance mode, started doing some quick passes with my hands (no, I wasn’t casting spells!).

A ripple rolled down my arms—they thinned out, bent at unnatural angles, and lit up with ghostly flame. I carefully pumped each limb full of enemy- shredding ectoplasm.

Alright, trashballs. Time to play some freakin’ bowling.

I peeled a chunk off my new arm, squished it into a ball, and launched a test throw. It went nowhere, splashed against a wall, and fizzled. Ectoplasm only works on certain things—it wouldn’t hurt a regular building.

But then—bam! Direct hit. That shot landed right in the gooey bullseye. Three monsters got wrapped in sticky sludge and started to decay on the spot.

Bon appétit, my little rotcakes. Another four bins bit the dust.

The remaining cans, seeing their buddies get turned into soup, kicked it into high gear. They suddenly switched up strategy—like frickin’ cheerleaders, they started launching each other toward me in massive leaps.

I dodged each one with style, but one of those sneaky bastards flicked its tongue out and wrapped it around my leg.

I dropped to one knee, hard. The bastards saw that and got hyped—charging me like they were in a group discount at Rage Room.

Curled in pain, I channeled everything I had into my hands. The -Dragon Strike- was ready. I slammed both palms into the first trash beast that got too close. It crumpled like a soda can. The next few met the same fate.

My energy was draining fast. Way too fast. I realized I’d blown way too much juice on such worthless opponents. When I cut the glow from my hands and tried boosting ectoplasm production to recover—big mistake.

One last bin took advantage of my delay.

And man, you should’ve seen that takeoff! It spun mid-air, repeating that first bin’s tornado move—but three times faster—and launched itself at my head.

I barely dodged in time. Still got clipped in the same temple that was already messed up. My vision blurred from the pain.

Instinct kicked in. I dumped the entire flask on that metal freak without a second thought.

It ignited instantly. Roared up into a crackling bonfire that’d make any tourist say, -Wow, is this a Christmas event?-

It took me a sec to realize two very dumb things:

One — I’d been fighting this whole time with the flask still in my hand, never tossed it back into my pocket.

Two — now it was empty. Every last drop, gone.

And if you don’t torch the monsters from beyond the Wall? They recover. Fast. And they’ll be back, badder and slimier than before.

I stared at the mess around me, totally dumbfounded. My brain was racing through a thousand bad ideas, until one finally stuck.

Screw the rules—I was gonna be a bad citizen for once.

I’d chuck all these trashbags beyond the Wall like expired yogurt. Sure, it wouldn’t solve the problem—they’d crawl back eventually—but I’d buy myself time. Time to grab fresh supplies... or, if I was feeling generous, spend some actual power to nuke them.

I heard the distinct sound of hands clapping behind me. Applause? Here?!

Not far off, next to a small truck, stood a pair: a tall, fit man and a petite girl

with long curly hair. Hanging from her neck was a cord with a sleek, vintage-style professional camera.

The guy was rocking a long trench coat with a high collar and fancy Oxford shoes with heavy heels. That’s about all I had time to register—because guess what? Life threw in another surprise act.